Dirty Little Secret
by SoSorbet
Summary: AU. Santana pays her estranged father a visit, getting a peek at his other family. Santana-centric. T for safety, probably not needed.
1. Chapter 1

Santana gave the dial a harsh turn, heated air pushing out against her chilled face. She sniffled again and adjusted her oversized sunglasses, watching 421 Leon Drive vigilantly. She prayed that something happened soon as she shrugged her shoulders, the furred hood of her winter coat brushing her cheeks. If not, she could very well need to ask for money to reattach her frozen nose.

Columbus, Ohio was beautiful in the winter. Colorful holiday lights adorned the awnings of the tall two story Victorian homes up and down Leon Drive. The house she was staked out in front of had gone all out, with a blow up Santa in the front lawn and light up reindeer on the roof. Santana's lips twisted south as she studied it. She wished she had brought some tomatoes to throw at their fancy decorations.

"Show you some reindeer games..." She muttered, sitting up in her seat.

Finally, after several more minutes of grumbling, two women exited the house. A girl around Santana's age with faded blue hair and a smaller girl, probably around eleven or twelve, waved goodbye as they trekked down the stairs and into a black import. Santana sunk down her seat as they drove by, her stomach in knots. She did her best to shrug off the feeling as another woman exited the house, kissing her husband goodbye and going to her own car.

Santana barely waited until the red Lexus turned the street corner before climbing out of her run down Camino and marched up to the door.

She knocked a little harder than necessary and waited.

"Did you forget your-" The man's smile fell as he registered her accessory covered face. "Santana?"

"Hi, Daddy." She said in a sickeningly sweet voice, setting her sunglasses atop her head to smile at him. "You gonna let me in, or do you want your neighbors to see me?" She didn't wait for an answer and pushed into the house.

A set of stairs was at her right as she passed the entry way. A spacious living room to her left, complete with a large fireplace and family photo covered mantle. A flat screen TV hung above, like something straight out of Better Homes and Gardens, and she could see a heavy oak table in the dining room. Sliding glass doors led out to a patio that wrapped around a pool and she sneered.

"Your home is lovely. I'm sure your other daughters love it."

"What are you doing here, Santana?" He asked, anger just barely lacing his voice. He sounded panicked more than anything.

"Oh, you know. Just stopping by for a visit, hoping for some quality father-daughter time."

Gabriel was silent as Santana tossed her scarf on the loveseat and strutted around the living room, admiring the china cabinet and vases.

"Are you serious?" His voice was quiet and sincere and Santana frowned.

"What? No." She said, disgusted, and turned to the family photos. "Something's come up and I need a little bit of money."

The blue haired girl used to have dark brown hair, nearly as dark as Santana's. The younger one looked almost identical to Santana and her stomach sunk. Both of the other girls had dimples and Santana absentmindedly brushed her own cheek.

"How much money?"

"What are their names?"

She felt the tension in the air thicken at the question and she whirled around to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Danielle and Shannon. Shannon's the youngest."

"Shannon looks a lot like me. Does that ever bother you?"

Gabriel's back stiffened at the question, his jaw set.

"How much money do you need?"

Santana frowned at the lack of an answer, but she was suddenly in a hurry to get out of the home-sweet-home atmosphere.

"Six hundred."

"Six hundred dollars?" He echoed, eyes going wide.

"No, six hundred cents. I'm desperate for a breakfast burrito." She rolled her eyes and plopped herself into a leather recliner. "Yes, six hundred dollars."

"Santana, this is ridiculous. I can't give you six hund-"

"Oh, please, Dr. Daddy. Your trophy wife won't even notice."

He glowered at her for a few moments before his shoulders fell forward and he sighed.

"Fine. I'll be back in minute." He stopped as he turned to walk up the stairs, catching his tongue before he told her not to touch anything. He swallowed hard and climbed the stairs, leaving Santana alone.

Without allowing herself any time to think about it, Santana jumped up and took the photo of the two girls, dropping it into her purse and settling back into her chair just in time.

"Do you need anything else?" His hand scribbled across the check slip hurriedly and Santana ground her teeth.

"Well, now that you mention it-"

"Is eight hundred enough?"

"Enough for me to not come by again?" His head whipped up to look at her, but he didn't reply. "Eight hundred's enough." He nodded. "For now."

"Santana, you can't come by here like this again. You know that Emilia doesn't know about you and your mother, and I-"

"Don't worry, daddy dearest." She said, ripping the check from his hands and reading over it. "I nearly vomited looking at your stupid Christmas decorations, it'll take me a few months to wash the bile from my mouth."

She could hear his teeth grind together as he stared hard at her.

"Is that all?" It wasn't a question as he stood up and walked to the door.

"I suppose." She sighed airily, ripping her scarf off the loveseat and wrapping it around her neck. He opened the door for her, but she stopped in front of it and stared up at him. She could see the resemblance. She'd gotten more of her features from him than she cared to admit.

"So, does it?"

"Does what?"

"Does it bother you that she looks like me?" She stared him down, her face emotionless. She could see his short facial hair bristle at the question. He searched her eyes for a few moments and, seeing no malice, answered honestly.

"Yes." He said carefully.

"Good." Santana slipped her sunglasses over her face and left without another glance, screen door slamming shut behind her. She was grateful for her sunglasses. Surely the tears would have frozen to her face without them.


	2. Chapter 2

The road kept blurring as she drove away from her father's house. She ripped the sunglasses off her face and threw them on the passenger's seat, hunching over the steering wheel in tears. She needed to get away—from everywhere and everything. Her chest seized up tightly as she pulled her car into the next available parking lot.

She leaned her head against the steering wheel, folding her arms over her head to hide her face.

Santana knew she had sisters. Her mom rubbed it in her face constantly. Every birthday, every Christmas, random Wednesdays.

"Betcha he bought them little _putas_ a Mercedes for they birthday."

"See, that _estropeado_ attitude is why he kept them and not you, _mija_."

Her eyes felt like they were going to explode with all the tears that she couldn't get out fast enough. She rubbed at her face with her scarf, her make up smearing over the yarn. That was her only birthday present the year she turned fifteen, a homemade scarf from her _abuela_. Her mom had given her a slap in the face for crying because she'd forgotten. Danielle and Shannon probably had full _quinceañeras_.

Santana awkwardly wrapped her arms around the steering wheel and its cracked leather, leaning her temple against it. Her watery eyes examined her purse, the corner of a wooden frame peeking out at her. With a shaking hand, she reached for the photo.

Danielle. She was older than Santana, by a whopping three months. They were almost twins and yet they looked nothing alike. Danielle had a small dimple in her chin, she had a shorter, wider face. What would it have been like to grow up with her? What if Santana _had _been her twin? How different would her life be?

Shannon's face smiled up at her and her lungs seized up again, her throat tightening around bitter bile. Her thumb traced over the girl's face. It was like looking at a picture from some weird, alternate universe. Here she was, sobbing over these two girls—her sisters—when they didn't even know she existed.

She'd never let herself cry in her car in Lima, but no one knew her in Columbus—not even her own family. So she let herself go, crying all the tears she'd held in for the last eighteen years, until the scarf had soaked up all that it could. She grabbed her purse and traded the photo for her phone.

"_Thank you for calling the Columbus area Planned Parenthood! My name is Kelsey; how may I help you?"_

"I'd like to make an appointment."

"_Okay, what would you like to make an appointment for?"_

"An abortion."

-x-

"Where the hell you been?"

Santana tossed her keys onto the storage bin by the door and looked into the living room. Maribel had dark circles under her eyes, her greasy hair pulled up into a messy bun. A tourniquet was tied around her arm and syringes littered the coffee table. Santana wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't left that couch all night, morning and afternoon.

"School," she lied.

"Oh," Maribel said simply, freeing her arm. "When's dinner?"

"What's wrong? Can't make it yourself?"

"Don't you make me smack that grin right off your face."

Santana doubted her mother could even walk at this point, but she shrugged her coat off and started towards the kitchen.

"What do you want?"

"Order a pizza."

"We can't, you spent the rest of the money last night."

"Here," Maribel said, holding up a small stack of bills. "Shut your mouth and call." Santana bit her tongue as she took the money and counted it.

"What'd you have to do to get this?"

"I said shut your mouth, _perra._"

Santana's nostrils flared as she pulled out her phone.

"We're getting Pizza Hut."

"I don't give a shit."

"You don't eat enough to shit."

-x-

The moon was high in the sky, but Santana was still wide awake. Danielle Santiago's facebook page wasn't particularly hard to find. Santana felt like a stalker, but she couldn't keep herself from scrolling through the hundreds of photos. Pictures of parties, pictures of her with a dog, pictures of her with friends.

Santana was in the middle of wondering where the Poodle that kept cropping up in the pictures was earlier in the day when she stumbled across a picture of Danielle with her arms around the neck of another girl, their cheeks pressed together. She flicked through the next several pictures, her jaw unhinging.

Her older sister was lip locked with the girl in the previous photo, wearing a black bikini with the beach behind them. Santana read the caption over and over again.

"_I miss you more every day. Love you. 3 – With Annabelle Leigh"_

Santana laughed a little louder than she should have and waited for the bang from the next room over. It never came and Santana rolled her eyes. Maribel was too far gone. An elephant could tear the house down and Maribel wouldn't as much as flinch in her sleep.

She probably shouldn't have been so amused that Danielle was a lesbian, but she couldn't help it. What would her father say if he knew two of his three daughters were gay? If he even counted Santana as a daughter, that was.

She shook her head and shoved her phone under her pillow with a sigh. She supposed it didn't matter. She had no intentions to reach out to her father. He was a bank, nothing more.

As much as she told herself that, she still couldn't stop wondering what Christmas at their house was like, compared to Christmas in her hellhole.

-x-

Santana hated doing homework, but even more than that, she hated the torture center that was McKinley High. So, it wasn't hard to make the decision to graduate a semester early. She'd walk with the seniors in the spring, but until then, she could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

Which meant that the very first day of her freedom, she drove to Columbus to apply for jobs.

She strutted into Starbucks without a care in the world, and the manager was more than excited to see her in her V-neck sweater and tight-fit jeans. She had the job before she even filled out the application and left with a sashay of her hips and a wink over her shoulder. He melted on the spot.

She spend the next several hours driving around Columbus, sniffing out cute cafes and lesbian bars. She wouldn't mind living here, working as a barista for minimum wage and living in a trailer park on the east side of town. She could deal with that. She'd rather be a Columbus castaway than a Lima loser. Anything to get out of Lima Heights.

And if that put her closer to Dr. Daddy, that was just fine by her. Hell, maybe she could even con him into paying for a nice loft downtown.

She sneered and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. This was going to be fun.

-x-

Santana barely had time to step into the door before her mother was in her face.

"Where you been? And don't tell me none of that school shit, I ain't no idiot."

"It's none of your business," she snarled, shoving at Maribel's shoulders. She tried to walk past her, but Maribel's long nails jammed into her arm as she pulled her back.

"The fuck it ain't! Now tell me where you been."

"It's none of your fucking business!"

Maribel's fist rammed into her jaw before she could register the movement. She nearly fell, her mother's nails cutting into her flesh to hold her up. Santana tasted blood in her mouth.

"You gonna answer me, _perra_."

"Go to hell."

Santana threw the next punch, feeling the bridge of her mother's nose crack under her knuckles. Maribel stumbled back, landing hard on her ass and smacking her head into the wall.

"Santana!" Santana whirled around to see her grandmother standing in the hallway, a scowl on her face.

"_Abuela, ella—"_ The elderly woman just shook her head.

"_Salir."_

"_Abuela..."_

She only shook her head and kneeled down to her daughter, holding a kerchief up to her bleeding nose.

"_Estoy decepcionado de ti, Santana."_

For a moment, Santana could only stare at the scene. Tears began to sting at the backs of her eyes. She shook her head before running out.

-x-

She drove to Brittany's. In theory, kissing sounded like a fantastic way to make a split lip feel better. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case, but Santana appreciated the gesture anyways.

-x-

Santana sat in her car for a really long time before she gathered up the courage to climb up her apartment's staircase. Creepy Carl was sitting outside his apartment door for reasons she wouldn't question and stared at her ass for a touch longer than she liked, and it took everything in her not to turn around and tackle him.

She held her keys together while she fit her house key in the slot, feeling his bloodshot eyes stare holes into her ass cheeks. For a split second, she was relieved to get into the apartment, until she noticed the sweet scent of cherry pie. She took a deep breath and rolled her neck, tossing her keys onto the storage bin and kicking her shoes off. No use in being quiet now.

"Hey, _Abuela_."

Alma Lopez didn't acknowledge her greeting. Santana swallowed hard and slid onto a barstool at the island. She knew to keep her mouth shut until told otherwise.

Alma ignored her completely, preparing a second pie as the second one baked. Santana rested her chin on the backs of her hands and closed her eyes. It was rare for her grandmother to ignore her, and she didn't like it one bit when it happened.

Several minutes passed before Alma sat the steaming pie in front of Santana and removed her oven mitts to lean into the island, shaking her head.

"I did not raise you this way."

"You aren't the only one who raised me," Santana said quietly.

"Your mother is trying."

"The hell she is."

"You will not speak to me that way!"

Santana tugged at the long sleeves of her sweater and chewed on her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry." The apology was weak, but she meant it. Her grandmother pushed the pie to the side and reached for Santana's hands. Alma's hands were old and littered with wrinkles and aging lines, but they held her with the strength of a warrior. That's what Alma was to Santana, a warrior. She fought to keep her safe, but there was more to it than that. There was an enemy on their front lines constantly, and although Alma knew it, she couldn't bear to get rid of her.

"I'm sorry, too," she said, squeezing her granddaughter's fingers. Santana shook her head.

"It's not your fault." It was a half-lie. She should have stopped Maribel years ago, but she wasn't strong enough then. She wasn't strong enough now, either, but Maribel was an adult. She could make her own decisions, and she did. Maribel continuously chose to put herself before everyone else and chose to abuse both her daughter and her mother.

"I'm so proud of you, Santana."

Santana hated crying, but it seemed to be happening an awful lot lately.


End file.
